


Pygmalion

by hanzopanzo (floralstiel)



Series: Pygmalion [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (only a little), Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blackwatch Era, Blood, Daddy Kink, Feral Jesse McCree, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Imprisonment, Jesse McCree/OMC, M/M, Oral Sex, Overwatch - Freeform, Possessive Behavior, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 11:41:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8711281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floralstiel/pseuds/hanzopanzo
Summary: “Someone had to have made you this way,” Hanzo murmured thoughtfully. “Shaped you in their image, to receive any form of love they saw fit to give.”Jesse looked up at the other man through half-lidded eyes and swallowed, feeling the blood cling slickly to his throat. “Perhaps you will tell me about him. When the time is right.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is! I'm happy to finally post my vampire!jesse au TAT written long before this, but finished and posted specifically for the last day of McReyes Week! 
> 
> Thanks everyone so much for the support so far, thanks for putting up with my endless teasers and ramblings, and I hope you enjoy it :)))

There were men surrounding him; the smell of their smokes and beer gave him a headache, but the smell of their bodies was all too enticing despite their unwashed stench. He wrenched his wrists once again, for good measure, even though they'd long grown numb.

“Jesse.”

He jerked sluggishly and lifted his too-heavy head, trying to focus through his hunger. He'd struggle so much harder if he wasn't already so weak from starvation, from neglect. Low laughter echoed through the garage and he shivered. They usually didn't crowd around him like this, at least not when he was so hungry.

“Jesse,” he heard again, “you hungry, boy?”

He groaned out a breath, slumping against his restraints to try and get closer to the voice, to the warm press of bodies around him. He licked his lips and his tongue met the warm metal of his muzzle.

“How long’s it been, you reckon? Since we fed him?”

“Close to a week, maybe.”

Jesse closed his eyes and tried to breath. Panic was forming like a lump low in his throat and he couldn't swallow it down. Had it really been that long? Fuck…

“So he's good and hungry now.”

“Definitely.”

More laughter, the sound of beers cracking open—he could hear each pop and fizzle in each can, every inhaled breath through cigarettes—and the sound of a door opening.

He cracked his eyes and heard more than saw the commotion of someone being dragged in by two gang members. A nondescript white man in a disheveled suit, yelling for help and expletives equally. He was bruised and beaten, looked a little sallow around the edges. Someone who'd been starved, too.

“We got all we needed outta him. Now it's time to take out the trash.”

They dragged the man closer and Jesse was hit with the potent stink of old blood. He shifted, getting onto his knees. More laughter.

“What are you doing?!” The man shouted, keeping up his struggles as someone opened Jesse’s cage. “What the fuck?! Who is that? Let me go!”

The man was chained to the opposite corner of Jesse's cage, and he could smell him. He could hear his blood, his heart, and he didn't want it…but _God_ , _he did_. He unraveled from his corner like a snake, struggles renewed against his restraints. The man was so close but just out of his reach and Jesse snarled and panted, dragging himself over the floor, scraping against the concrete with his nails that split and bled, so urgent was his desperation when the chains wouldn’t let him go any farther. The cuffs bit further into his wrists. He sobbed. He was so _hungry_.

His cage door shut with a clang, the lock rattled and closed with a click, and then, so suddenly he almost didn't notice, he was free. He jerked his head around, staring wide-eyed at the leering faces around him, through the metal bars.

“You're real hungry, ain't ya boy?”

He whined.

“Well go on.”

Jesse looked back at the struggling man through the ratty strands of hair over his face. His mouth filled with saliva. But he was confused.

“Go!”

Someone kicked the cage behind his head and he flinched away. He jerked to attention when the chained man yelled and bucked, straining to free himself. Jesse panted, his breaths heating the metal over his face.

“Oh shit, his fucking muzzle.”

“Forgot.”

“Dammit, can't tear that bastard apart with it on, can he?”

A moment of silence from outside the cage. Jesse waited, muscles quivering in anticipation.

“Oh hell naw, I ain't goin’ in there.”

“Just fucking do it. Chain him up to the bars again, take the muzzle off and leave. We've done this before.”

“Yeah but what if he _gets_ on me, you know?”

“Look at him, fucker’s too weak to even hold himself up, much less take on a guy twice his size.”

Jesse didn't move. He waited with baited breath. The man in the corner was staring at him with wide eyes, his heart was pounding so quickly, pumping so much blood through his veins. Jesse was dizzy with it.

The door was unlocked again, and someone stepped inside. Jesse watched him come closer, coiled and trembling.

“Easy,” the man muttered, approaching with shaking hands. Jesse waited. The man gripped him on his bony forearm and dragged him back to his corner, and Jesse groaned and struggled weakly when he was chained once again.

“Ugh, little fucker stinks. Who's the one who was supposed to hose him down last?”

“Never mind that, just hurry up!”

Through it all Jesse couldn't take his eyes off the man in the other corner. His muzzle was removed and he bared his teeth, stretching his jaw so hard it cracked. He groaned in appreciation, closing his eyes.

“Alright now get outta there.”

“Okay okay!”

The man turned, and Jesse _lunged_. The problem with the chains was that they were too old, and no one in the gang really paid much attention to them. It was hard to find old chains nowadays, and they didn't want to put out money for anything fancier or sturdier. So they were old, and they were weak. Jesse had been working on a few of the links for weeks, testing them, wearing them down _just_ _enough_ …

“ _Fuck!!_ ” The man screamed when Jesse latched on his neck like a vice, snarling and curling around him, pulling him to the ground. He sucked the lifeblood from the man's veins quickly and violently, tearing into his neck in his urgency. The man gurgled and lay bleeding out, and Jesse couldn't drink fast enough. Dark blood spilled over the floor in puddles, staining his knees as he crowded the body, gnawing on the meat of his neck to eke out fresh blood.

The man in the corner was screaming—had pissed himself—but Jesse couldn't leave the first body yet. He was greedy in his hunger. He accidentally swallowed some of the man's neck and his gorge rose, he heaved on all fours and weakly coughed it up, along with a generous amount of thick blood. He lapped at it desperately, it tasted foul, he moved back to the dying man instead. He buried his face in the hot ruin of his neck, moaning as he was surrounded by the comforting smell and taste and warmth of sweet, sweet blood.

Through the ringing in his ears he could hear a commotion outside the cage, shouting and screaming and…gunshots? But clearly not aimed at him, or he'd be down for the count by now. He glanced up and saw the room was empty, forgotten beer cans and cigarette butts littered the floor in a chaotic array of a good time interrupted. He strained to hear over the screaming man in the corner, and heard more gunshots and shouts, and above it all the booming report of shotgun blasts, one right after the other. Too quick for traditional means, that meant special order. Military.

Jesse crouched and growled low in his throat. He felt more alive than ever. He'd never been allowed this much blood at once. He spat on the steaming corpse in front of him, ignoring the man for now. If he ended up stuck in the cage he'd need something to survive on. He backed up into the corner and waited with baited breath. He couldn't hear as well as he wanted, the man in the corner was still screaming and struggling. He'd torn open his wrists and Jesse inhaled with a shuddering sigh, eyes falling shut in ecstasy. So much blood, so much—

“Here you are you fucking snitch.”

Jesse's eyes shot open.

“Holy fuck Davidson! Get me the hell outta here!” The man in the corner screeched. Another man, dressed in dark combat gear and a mask, came into the room, checking over each corner before he turned his attention to the cage.

“Davidson! Come on!”

“Fuck you,” Davidson spat, “I've a mind to shoot you right now you fucking traitor.”

“No please, you gotta get me outta here—”

“Ain't gotta do shit for you. How much does Blackwatch intel go for these days? Better have been fucking worth it,” Davidson kicked the side of the cage and it rattled, “we lost good men ‘cause of you.”

“ _Please!_ ”

“Reyes,” Davidson barked, tapping a comm device in his ear, “you're not gonna believe what I found—”

“Oh my god oh my god…”

“That's right, fucking Peters. He's here in the garage, locked up in some sorta cage with a corpse for company, and uh…”

Davidson paused and almost casually shot Jesse twice in the chest in his shadowed corner, harsh _pak-paks_ from the impact that Jesse almost didn't even feel at first.

“One hostile, took him out though,” Davidson continued. Jesse tried not to scream as his hard-won blood seeped from his wounds.

“Hold on,” Davidson paused, approaching the cage. He shot Jesse twice more in the back and this time Jesse did scream, long and ragged.

“Fucker won't die,” Davidson spoke into the comm, shooting Jesse's legs for the hell of it. Jesse howled indignantly.

“Stop it!” Peters screamed, “keep that up and he'll come for me!”

“The fuck you talking about?”

“Him! That-that _thing_! Killed the other guy in here! Tore out his fucking throat!”

“You on your way?” Davidson spoke into the comm again. “Good, ‘cause there's some weird shit going on in here.”

Peters continued to babble and Davidson shouted over him, kicking the cage. Jesse's ears were ringing. He needed…he was hungry _again_. He moaned and pulled himself up to his elbows, dragging his legs behind him.

“Shoot him in the head! Shoot him!” Peters screeched as Jesse crawled closer. Davidson didn't say anything. A quick glance showed that he was standing by, watching curiously with some sort of sick fascination.

Jesse reached Peters’ legs, nose wrinkling at the sharp stink of urine, but crawled on, up his bucking thighs, quivering stomach, to his screaming face. Jesse held the man's shoulders, almost gently, tenderly, looking him in the eyes. Peters stopped screaming, his mouth stayed gaping open like a fish but no sound came out. He stared wide-eyed up at Jesse, who settled in his lap despite his aching legs.

“Shhh…” Jesse rasped when the man whimpered in fear, despite Jesse's thrall. It'd been so long since he'd done this, controlled a man with his gaze alone, and Jesse could feel his control waning with each strained second, so he struck. He pierced Peters’ skin easily and he moaned as the sweet coppery blood flooded into his mouth. Peters stared up, sightless, shivering, as Jesse drained him. Jesse gasped and shuddered and moaned into the torn meat in his face, lapping at the excess, back hunched, euphoric.

He sighed when the bullets in his chest, back and legs squeezed out, the flesh knitting back together in their wake. The slick, squelching noise of his feeding echoed in the room, interspersed with his quick breaths and soft cries of pleasure.

“Holy fuck,” Davidson murmured. Jesse glanced his way, still nuzzled in the ruin of Peters’ neck, suckling lazily.

Another man stood next to Davidson, large, dark and muscled, covered in scars. He had his arms crossed, and unlike Davidson—who watched the scene with sickened horror—he looked intrigued. Jesse abandoned Peters’ corpse and approached the bars.

The gang members who'd been watching earlier didn't have time to lock the door before…whatever had happened. Jesse looked at it now, the open lock. He hadn't been outside the cage in years.

“What are you, kid?” The new man spoke, crouching outside the cage. He didn't look afraid, didn't look like anything. His face was expressionless and cold.

Jesse tried to speak, but all that came up was a gargled rasp and broken syllables. He hadn't had to speak in so long—he’d long given up on screaming for help, for his former “family” to release him—and he couldn't muster the words. He clutched the bars in front of him and stared, waiting instead. The man stared back, and then glanced at Peters’ cooling corpse.

“I’d thank you for that, if I knew you understood me. Lot of shit going on right now and, somehow, you're right in the middle of it.” The man laughed and stood.

“Shoot him in the head, make sure he stays down,” the man said, turning his back on him, and Jesse snarled. He lunged out of the cage, screaming when a blast caught him on his hip, but he took the other man down. He straddled him and snarled in his face.

“Reyes!” Davidson shouted, training his gun back on Jesse.

Reyes lifted his hand to hold him off, keeping his eyes on Jesse.

“You're not gonna hurt me,” the man hissed. Jesse snarled and bit the air in front of his face; a warning, a challenge. He was suddenly tipped onto his side, a knee pressed into his gut so hard he nearly puked out all the blood he'd guzzled earlier, and then their positions were rudely reversed.

“Like I said,” Reyes smirked. He pulled a pistol from his hip and pressed it into his stomach. “You're not gonna hurt me. Gonna kill your freaky ass first.”

Two shots in his gut and all Jesse could feel was _fire_. The slick, intimate sensation of blood slipping down his ruptured stomach was sickening but he could only think of the _loss_. Panicking and swiftly losing consciousness, Jesse bashed his head against Reyes’ nose. The man pulled back with a snarl and Jesse felt his grip loosen. He broke free and surged up, latching onto Reyes’ armored shoulders as he lapped up the blood that dripped from his nose.

Reyes froze and that suited Jesse just fine. Once his nose stopped bleeding Jesse whined, desperate for more. He nipped at the man's plump, dark lips and was rewarded with several sweet drops and he sucked them down, worrying at the cuts until his lip was swollen. A gentle but firm grip on his shoulders pulled him back and Jesse looked up, at the man's wary face.

“I better not be fuckin’ wrong about this,” he grunted before pulling off his left glove. He shoved his sleeve up and held his wrist in front of Jesse's face.

“You try and drain me dry I'll snap your damn neck. Nod if you understand.”

Jesse frantically nodded and gripped his arm, gingerly opening his mouth over the skin. He looked up at Reyes one last time before he bit down. He groaned when fresh hot blood seeped into his mouth. He sucked eagerly, weepy with gratitude that he tried to show through his expression alone. The man hesitated, but Reyes eventually rested his hand on the back of Jesse's head, stroking his hair in time with his pulls.

Jesse was crying. Ugly, sobbed tears mixed with the man's rich blood that felt so much more invigorating than any others he'd consumed in the past. He had to stop after only a few deep pulls. He rasped out senseless, half-formed words and sobs open-mouthed against Reyes’ wrist. The man didn't stop petting him, just gently shushed him and pulled him into his chest, into a warm embrace that Jesse couldn't pull from but stopped trying to. He was rocked and lifted, wrapped in a nearby wool blanket. It was so warm.

“We're done here,” he heard Reyes speak. The vibration of his voice felt like deep rumbles against his own chest. Soothing. He had his face buried in the join of the man's neck and shoulder, and he was so fully sated he wasn't even tempted to so much as lick at that sweaty skin in front of his face.

“Sir,” Davidson spoke, and Jesse didn't need to see him to know his hesitation.

“We’re done,” Reyes repeated, and then they left the garage. As soon as they stepped outside Jesse thought it was all a dream. The air was brisk and sharp, the heavy scent of rain mixed with blood and gasoline and it felt like heaven. Reyes spoke with others as they walked, but no explanation for Jesse besides “rescued prisoner,” which wasn't far from the truth.

They stopped at an armored truck some ways from the garage with what looked to be some sort of ops center set up haphazard in the open back. Reyes deposited him into a chair in the corner and turned to the screens and various data pads that littered the front desk. Jesse listened with his eyes closed. The pattering of the rain on the roof was peaceful, Reyes’ murmured voice even more so. Jesse took a deep shuddering breath and stood on wobbly legs, exiting the truck.

“Oye,” Reyes barked, “don't go where I can't see you. ¿Comprende?”

Jesse had his eyes closed, his face tipped up into the pattering rain. He cut a sorry figure, standing in the low light, in the rain and cold, wrapped in a threadbare blanket and nothing else.

Fog billowed from his lips like smoke.

 

 

Jesse couldn’t bear anyone else to touch him, and Reyes had to pull him through the compound quickly, his overly muscled arms easily holding him back as he snarled and bucked at the sight of strangers, Reyes barking orders as they went. He was exhausted by the time they entered a separate wing of the compound.

Reyes keyed into a room and Jesse barely made out a plain bed and desk, little décor to make it remarkable, and then they were in a bathroom. Reyes pulled him into the shower, still fully dressed himself, and washed him.

He was slow and gentle, and Jesse turned his face up to the water with closed eyes as Reyes ran his fingers through his hair, scrubbing and massaging his scalp. He looked and saw the water run red and brown as the filth rinsed from his skin, and Reyes made sure to scrub every inch of his naked body.

Reyes pulled off his soaked clothes and quickly scrubbed down as well. Jesse leaned his forehead on the man’s chest as he waited, soothed and warm and clean. They maneuvered out from the bathroom and into towels and fresh clothes—drawstring sweats and an overly large t-shirt for Jesse that fit like a tent—and settled on the bed.

The man crooned soft words and sounds when Jesse stiffened and tried to pull away, too warm and exhausted to do more than hiss as Reyes pulled him close, settling him so Jesse’s back was to his chest. Jesse could feel the rumble of the man’s voice as he spoke meaningless reassurances and smoothed his wet hair back over his head with gentle hands. He held him until Jesse quieted completely, slumped in his arms with his head lolled back onto the man’s shoulder as he panted.

“Come on, now,” Reyes murmured, like gentling a startled animal as he raised his wrist to Jesse’s lips. He mouthed over the clean skin after some struggle and latched on, suckling with soft sounds of contentment.

“Gonna take care of you,” Reyes said, “got nothing to worry about.”

Jesse drank and drank.

 

 

“Again.”

Jesse snarled and climbed to his feet.

“Come on, bloodsucker, don't make me regret taking you in.”

Jesse lunged and Reyes parried, moving swiftly to knock him on his ass, again.

“You're better than this, I know you are,” Reyes sighed. “Again.”

They'd trained for hours now. Most had already left; the spectacle of Commander Reyes and his new ward lost its glitter after so many punishing drops onto the mat. Jesse smacked his palm on the ground and panted, glaring up at Reyes.

"You done?" Reyes quirked an eyebrow. Fucker was barely even breaking a sweat. Jesse hit the floor again with a scowl and Reyes shrugged.  A few months had passed since Reyes pulled Jesse out from the ruin of Deadlock Gorge, and the man was doing his damnedest to make sure Jesse could hold his own.

“I won't always be there for you, kid,” Reyes had told him one of those first nights. “You gotta learn to take care of yourself, so shit like back at that garage doesn't happen again.”

Jesse had taken the words to heart, and really, he was trying, but so much physical activity after years of confinement was draining. Reyes helped him to his feet and they left the sparring room, Jesse a panting, sweaty mess next to Reyes’s near pristine exterior.

“Come on, let’s go get something to eat.”

Jesse nodded. Only a handful of people knew about Jesse's condition, and Reyes wanted to keep it that way. Meals were difficult, they were still figuring out what worked and what didn't, and they settled on retrieving meals from the mess hall to eat in Reyes’s quarters. Reyes would give Jesse's tray to a passing Blackwatch agent, who knew better than to ask questions. Reyes had a stash of blood bags he kept in his office, in a private refrigerator he kept under lock and key.

“Here you go, champ.”

Reyes tossed Jesse a blood bag and he caught it eagerly. They ate in relative silence. Reyes would stare at him if he slurped noisily, so Jesse tried his best to drink quietly. He couldn't help it if a few noises slipped out once in a while; some blood tasted better than others, sometimes way worse, but nothing compared to Reyes’ blood. His blood was richer and darker and more filling than any other he'd tasted, and on those days when Reyes let him have another taste…those days left him reeling and slack with pleasure and satiation.

 

 

“I don't even know your name,” Reyes spoke. It was late, later than the man usually stayed up; Jesse knew because he'd taken to laying cradled in the man's arms as he slept—he loved the constant contact, he couldn't sleep without it—and Jesse dozed watching his big chest rise and fall. He was treating Jesse to his wrist for the first time in weeks.

“Why won't you talk?” Reyes asked as he stroked his hair, shining and clean and so light for the first time in his life. Blackwatch—Reyes—was keeping him right. Jesse said nothing, just looked up at the man while he suckled contentedly. He took his time feeding now that he knew he'd always have a source. He didn't have to worry about being underfed, starved even. Reyes made sure of it.

"Doc said there's nothing physically wrong with you. Guess you're just being stubborn.”

Jesse unlatched from Reyes’s wrist and worked his mouth, frowning. He hadn't thought about it. He hadn't had to speak in so long, and Reyes and Blackwatch had been so accommodating he almost didn't have to speak.

“I don't know your name, I don't know how old you are…hell,” Reyes broke off into uneasy laughter and Jesse continued drinking, “makes all this…really weird. Right?”

Jesse leaned back and licked his lips, considering Reyes. The man looked down at him, indecipherable, and rubbed some stray blood off his cheek. His thumb lingered, trailed over his stubble-covered chin and up to his bottom lip, pressing down on its plumpness. Jesse closed his eyes and let his mouth fall open, expectant, but he didn't know what for. The thing they had between them was strange, wholly new. He didn't know what to make of it and he didn't know what came next.

“-ess…”

Reyes’s thumb froze. Jesse cleared his throat and tried again.

“Jesse.”

His voice was nigh unrecognizable. It was deeper than he remembered it to be, scratchy and hoarse and whisper-thin with a bit of a drawl he hadn't had before.

“Jesse,” Reyes repeated in a whisper, cupping his face. “Call me Gabe.”

 

 

“I’d like to borrow that new recruit of yours for an Overwatch night op.”

Jesse had met the Strike Commander maybe twice in the year he'd been with Blackwatch. He never enjoyed any of those meetings, this one included.

"Hardly a new recruit,” Gabe replied, taking a sip of his coffee. Jesse wrung his hands in his lap.

“Is that a yes?” Morrison grunted, not even looking Jesse's way. It'd been awhile since he'd been treated like an object. Gabe looked at Jesse, waiting. Jesse nodded.

“Okay.”

 

 

“Fuck, look at you…”

Jesse preened and closed his eyes, nuzzling into Gabe's large hand when he cupped his cheek. He licked over the flushed head of Gabe's cock and suckled, careful of his teeth.

“Shoulda known you'd be good at this,” Gabe continued, pushing his hand through Jesse's hair to cradle the back of his head to control the pace. Jesse let him, moaning when the man gripped and pulled his hair.

“It's like you go to another place when you use that mouth of yours,” Gabe groaned. “That why you picked up smoking? Oral fixation?” He pushed his thumb into Jesse's mouth alongside his cock, nicking himself on a sharp canine. Jesse groaned and tongued at the cut, sucking down the small amount of drug-like blood, swirling his tongue over Gabe's cock and drew him deeper, bobbing into a smooth rhythm.

Gabe didn't last long under Jesse's feverish enthusiasm, and Jesse rushed to swallow as much as possible, it tasted almost as good as his blood. Gabe pulled him back and Jesse wiped spit from his chin, grinning up at his commander, his everything.

“Your turn,” Gabe rumbled, pushing him to the bed. He went easily.

 

 

Talking started to come easier, probably from all the time he spent around Overwatch. They were different from Blackwatch; they were friendlier, more social, and while Gabe tried his best to keep Jesse from them as much as possible, Morrison still requested him for the tougher missions his green, young agents couldn't handle.

No one questioned Jesse's attire, why he wore a ratty old red blanket over his combat gear, wide brimmed hat and sunglasses. One of them, a hyperactive British agent, started calling him cowboy and it stuck. Jesse found he liked it. Cowboys in the movies were brave, self-reliant. Ideal. Gabe even called him vaquero, sometimes. He fiddled with the hem of his serape and waited for the mark to show.

"Howdy,” he rasped into the darkness, grinning.

 

 

“Starting to look like you don't age,” Gabe murmured. Jesse had started to suspect it too, but didn't want to say it. Acknowledging it made it real. Gabe ran his fingers through Jesse's hair as they lay together, Jesse pillowed on Gabe's chest. He'd filled out considerably since being rescued from Deadlock, but he was nowhere near grown.

He was a few days short of twenty-one and he still looked like a boy.

 

 

He told Gabe how it happened on his birthday. It was probably the most he'd spoken in years.

“I was fifteen. Went off by myself, thinkin’ I was hot shit.” He swallowed. “Right after I’d joined up with Deadlock. Went off into town for a night of fun and met up with a stranger at the bar. Real handsome fella. Like the devil he was.”

Jesse laughed and tried not to look in Gabe’s direction.

“Brought me to a motel, said we'd have some fun, and I said I didn't mind that. Was when he was, uh,” he cleared his throat, “when he was inside me when it happened. Thought he was playin’ rough at first, but then he didn't let up.”

Gabe didn't move or speak, but Jesse could feel his eyes. He didn't want to look, to see the pity there.

“He was probably about a few good pulls away from killin’ me. I was able to grab my gun while he was distracted, got him twice in the chest and face, and I got out. Got away. Thought that was the end of it.”

“That didn't kill him?” Gabe interrupted.

“Nah,” Jesse rasped, “I been shot in the head before, I'm still kickin’. Anyhow, I got out, dragged my sorry ass to the hospital. Went my way in the morning, back to Deadlock. Didn't realize anythin’ was wrong until I was elbows deep in some guy’s guts, lickin’ at it, drinkin’ it. Awful shit it was.”

Gabe rested his hand on Jesse's head, pulling him into his chest.

“The rest you know,” Jesse finished. “They pumped me fulla so many bullets I still don't think I've pushed them all out. Was goddamn Swiss cheese when they dumped me in that cage. Was in there two years before you and Blackwatch showed.”

"If the man turned you just by drinking from you I’d be a vamp a hundred times over.”

“Reckon it's when I shot him. A lot of his blood got in my mouth.”

Gabe hummed and stroked his hair. He did that a lot and Jesse had come to love it.

“Don't stop,” he murmured. Gabe tugged his hair lightly.

“Never.”

 

 

“Fuck, Jesse,” Gabe groaned, rolling his hips for those deep, hard thrusts Jesse adored. He was straddling Gabe’s hips, both sitting upright as they slowly fucked their way through the night. Jesse bit Gabe’s neck again, sucking once, hard, and Gabe’s head fell back with a huff.

Gabe was so large around him, in him; his arms were all tightly confined strength as he lifted and dropped him on his cock, again and again. He had to pull back just to breathe, panting against Gabe’s sweaty and bloody neck, crying out with each deep thrust.

“You’re so small,” Gabe groaned, wrapping one hand around Jesse’s cock, the other arm around his back to pull him closer. Jesse moaned and blushed hard, eyes squeezed shut as Gabe pumped him almost painfully quick, thumb grinding over the head.

“So fucking small,” Gabe continued, “could pick you up with one arm if I wanted. If I didn’t already know how old you were I’d…”

Jesse panted and opened his eyes, lines of his face tight with pain but he loved it when Gabe got like this. Rough, possessive, hard.

“Still way older than me, Gabe,” Jesse sighed, limp in his arms, hips hitching when Gabe’s hand slowed on his cock. “You’re old enough to…to be my daddy.”

Gabe froze, but Jesse felt his cock twitch inside him. He clenched and shifted, putting his arms around Gabe’s neck. The man wouldn’t look at him, he stared at the wall behind his head and swallowed thickly. Jesse watched a bead of sweat fall down his forehead.

“Do you like that? Daddy?” Jesse asked, playing coy. He clenched down again and Gabe moaned, closing his eyes tight. Jesse laughed breathily and choked when Gabe suddenly flipped and twisted them, shoving Jesse facedown onto the bed.

“Augh…fuck!” Jesse cried, voice cracking when the man started up an almost brutal pace, slapping into him over and over and Jesse couldn’t _breathe_.

“You've got such a _mouth_ on you,” he growled as he slapped Jesse’s ass. “You need to watch it, before I'm forced to make you behave.”

“Fucking do it,” Jesse moaned, pushing his hips and ass up for more abuse, “show me how to behave, daddy. Show me. _Show me_ …”

 

 

“You what?”

Gabe was singularly possessive in a way Jesse was intimately familiar with. He knew how to handle it, he knew it came from a good, well-meaning place. But sometimes…sometimes he was filled with such _fear_.

“I want my own room,” Jesse repeated. He held himself so stiffly as to hide his nervousness he nearly ached from it. Sweat beaded at his hairline and he knew Gabe saw it, knew he saw the minute shivers that ran throughout his body, the way his fists clenched at his sides so hard they hurt.

"Where's this coming from?” Gabe asked in lieu of an answer. Jesse licked his lips—nearly rolled his eyes if he didn't already know he'd get his ass kicked for it—and fought for an answer. It wasn't so much anything he knew for certain, just impulses, feelings, a need to get away that stemmed deep in his gut like a hook, dragging him indelibly away from the man he thought he loved.

"People're talkin’,” Jesse shrugged, pulling the lie out of his ass. People stopped talking about him and Gabe years ago.

“Who?” Gabe narrowed his eyes, calling him on his bluff and looking very much like a great, dark cat coiled in the jungle, waiting to pounce.

“No one in particular,” Jesse rushed to think, feeling sweat dribble down his spine, “J-Jacobs, maybe Meadows…”

"Jacobs and Meadows," Gabe repeated with an arched brow that seemed to say ‘are you sure you want to continue down this road?’

“Maybe,” Jesse murmured.

Gabe hummed and returned to his paperwork. Jesse knew a dismissal when he saw one and he hightailed it out of there.

The next day he had new bunk assignments waiting for him in his data pad, and the news that agents Jacobs and Meadows were MIA. Jesse swallowed, gripped his data pad so hard it hurt, then made his way to his new room.

 

 

Gabe and Morrison always fought. It was like a fact of life, second nature, if they were ever together they either already argued or were gearing up for it.

Gabe always found him after the worst ones, coming to him all bluster and rage, and Jesse made himself soft and pliable in the face of that storm, cooing that he wouldn't break, Gabe could do whatever he wanted, that it was okay.

It was okay.

 

 

Gabe cried only once. They were desperate, hot tears that soaked into Jesse's hair as he curled up against his broad chest and shushed him gently, rubbing at his shoulders and chest.

"I just...I don't know what to do anymore,” Gabe said, voice harsh and tight. Jesse rubbed his cheek on his shoulder and held him, saying nothing.

"I know what I should do but I. I don't know if I'm…I don’t think I can do it…”

Jesse kissed his neck, nibbled the dark flesh but didn't take—never without Gabe’s permission—and waited it out, whatever this was. Jesse wasn't ignorant, but this was beyond him.

 

 

They were going so slowly for the first time in ages. So tender and soft Jesse almost couldn't feel it until the stretch and push was too much to ignore. He whined against Gabe’s ear and the man rubbed his shaky back and thighs, kissing him pliant and calm again. This felt different. It felt reverential, like mourning.

“You'll never leave me, right?” Jesse rushed to ask, suddenly alarmed—that hook in his gut pulled tight, oh so tight—and Gabe said nothing, merely pulled his head to his neck, giving permission without words. Jesse fed with a hint of urgency. Something wasn't right.

“Never’s a long time, baby,” Gabe finally said as they continued to rock together, barely separating by a few inches before locking tight. Jesse tried to hide his desperation, his tears, and blood smeared over his face, over his chest and Gabe's neck like garish paint.

“As long as you can, then?”

Gabe lifted Jesse from his lap and settled him on the bed, returning between his spread thighs in an instant. When he pressed back into him Jesse let out a shaky sob on a breath, and Gabe shushed him, kissed him softly. They rocked like a boat on waves with legs and hands tangled tightly together. Gabe had his eyes on Jesse’s face, studying him so intensely Jesse had to shut him out, sobbing because he couldn't help but think this was it, he'd never feel this man between his thighs and in his arms again.

“As long as I can,” Gabe finally answered and Jesse cried and cried.

 

* * *

 

 

Jesse received new orders and he left before he could even see Gabe. He checked his data pad for any word or message. Nothing. He tapped it against his thigh in the transport plane and tried not to think about anything but the op.

He was sent to King's Row with his own unit, a tight group handpicked for stealth and discretion, and their orders were simple. Wait for the signal then move. The order said they'd know the signal when they saw it and Jesse scoffed. Who wrote this…

They settled in a small hotel just outside the busy city center and waited. And waited. Jesse checked his data pad near constantly but received no sign nor signal—and no replies to the dozens of messages he'd sent Gabe’s way, even through official channels. It was as if they were cut off, and Jesse wasn't the only one restless.

Eventually he broke down and let his unit off for the night and they left, whooping and hollering in the general direction of the local pub. Jesse watched them galivant off into the dark, then went his own way.

King’s Row seemed to be perpetually blanketed in fog, even in the daytime Jesse didn't need much more than his hat and sunglasses, though he always wore his serape—it still smelled like Gabe—and even though the ones he wore for ops were black or otherwise darkly colored he still attracted a lot of attention. He smiled, chagrined when a little girl gaped and pointed at him from across the street. He pushed his hat down and almost turned away, but the girl’s mother dropped her bag in shock, also staring. Jesse frowned. He knew he was a handsome devil but what—

_You’ll never leave me, right?_

Jesse gaped up at the jumbo screen in the square behind him. News reports showed the Swiss headquarters explosion over and over in horrific detail.

_Never’s a long time, baby._

He darted from the street, ducking into an alley to just fucking _breathe_.

_As long as you can, then?_

Jesse pulled out his data pad and saw the flashing red band over the screen. Disbanded, outlaw, criminal, wanted, _murderer_. He wheezed out a panicked breath and glanced around the alley, out into the street. They'd be coming for him.

_As long as I can._

Jesse ran.     

 

 

Jesse hadn't felt such all-consuming hunger in a long, long time. He groaned and dragged himself across the mattress, patting at the bedside table for the blood bag he'd left there last night. It would be close to foul by now but he needed it. He sucked it down and tried to avoid looking at his reflection in the blank television screen across the room. He already knew what he'd see. Dark bags, hallow skin, bedraggled hair and clothes, greasy and unwashed. He felt like he was back in that cage in Deadlock Gorge. This time with a bed and unreliable shower, but the same nonetheless.

This felt an awful lot like withdrawal, and he knew exactly who was to blame.

 

 

Just because he was immortal didn't mean other bad shit couldn't happen to him. Namely, his left arm being blown off clear up to past his elbow. When it happened he sort of stared at it dumbly, the gory stump. Pain came next, searing and bright, and he dumbly flopped on the ground until he reached his bag, fingers fumbling with the anesthetic shots until he finally jabbed one in his arm. He staggered to his feet and ran. He didn't know who was attacking him, or if they were following him. He fucking ran.

 

 

He couldn't shoot two-handed anymore. His prosthetic replacement hand was too unwieldy, and definitely not articulate enough to handle a gun the way he'd like. But he learned how to fan the hammer _real_ good.

 

 

He ran out of blood bags. Stupid, he was so fucking stupid. He'd been too distracted with the news to think about it and now he was fucked. He chewed on his thumbnail while he stared out the window.

He was in Dorado. He was familiar with the streets but not the people, it'd been years. He licked his lips and angrily pulled the curtains closed.

He picked his data pad up from his bed and tapped through a map of the city. The hospital was two miles away, and it had to have a blood bank. His flesh hand twitched over his holster as he eyed the map, memorizing the route.

Much later that night he stole a car and sped out of town, chewing his thumbnail again. He hadn’t been expecting the orderly in the storage room, he hadn’t expected her to be carrying a taser, and he underestimated how fucking _hungry_ he was.

She would live. But he could never come back to Dorado again.

 

 

The recall was interesting. Jesse hadn't planned on mingling with folks from Overwatch ever again, and he couldn't abide their curious looks as they took in his too-smooth, too-young appearance.

None of them looked like they aged much themselves, but Jesse had been at that age where growth was to be expected. He scuffed his boots on the floor as he waited for the debriefing to end. UN this, international law that. Jesse didn't care about any of it. He didn't care about much these days.

“McCree,” Winston cleared his throat, “if you'd stay behind, I’d like to speak with you.”

Jesse nodded without looking up from his nails. He picked at some grit stuck under them as he waited. He felt eyes on him, new and old. He glanced up and caught one of the newer assets staring, a former Yakuza boss turned mercenary. Jesse tipped his hat, blew him a cheeky kiss, and the man rolled his eyes and looked back to the front of the room. He grinned. Proper fellas didn't take to his sort of flirtations. The other agents filed out of the room once the meeting was over, the new guy stuck firm to Genji’s side. Didn't give Jesse so much as a passing glance.

“Okay,” Winston sighed as soon as everyone left, “I received your encrypted file from Athena shortly after recall. I read it, all of it…”

The scientist trailed off.

“Explains a lot, don't it?” Jesse huffed.

“Yes, yes it does,” Winston laughed awkwardly, shuffling in place. Jesse stared at the ape and sighed, willing to put him out of his misery.

“You wanting to know how I feed?”

“Yes, so we can prepare and take precautions,” Winston said. “The file was unclear on how you fed before, in Blackwatch. There were, um, a lot of gaps in the, uh, inventory…”

Jesse smirked.

“Anyway,” the scientist pulled off his glasses to buff them clean, a nervous habit if Jesse ever saw one, “you're exclusively Overwatch now, which means your wellbeing is my responsibility. I've worked with Athena and the local hospitals and blood banks around each of our major watchpoints. You should be covered. I'll send you the details later and we can work something out.”

“Gotcha,” Jesse said, turning to leave.

“You're not, um, _hungry_ now, are you? If so…”

“Been takin’ care of myself since Blackwatch went under, don't need you babying me. I'll figure it out,” Jesse groused, leaving the miffed scientist behind.  

 

 

“Death comes,” sounded like a stupid catchphrase uttered by delinquent teens, not a hulking mass of black-clad muscle and smoke with deadly—familiar—dual shotguns.

Jesse knew about Talon, knew about Widowmaker. He didn't know about this one.

"His designation is Reaper,” Winston informed him. “He started working closely with Talon with the sole intent of hunting down former Overwatch agents. Now that we're all together again he'll have a much harder time of it.” The scientist let out a short growl, staring up at the blurry photo taken from the security cameras.

Black cloak, white bone mask. Jesse stared at that mask. No eyes, but he felt like its gaze bore into his very soul, digging in deep to fester like a disease.

 

 

“Harder!” Jesse moaned, tightening his legs around the man's waist. He didn't remember his name. Just some guy he'd hooked up with in a bar in town. Dark skinned, heavily muscled. Yeah. Jesse knew he was pathetic.

“Fuck,” the man growled, quickening his pace as Jesse panted and bucked beneath him, “don't know if I can.”

“Fucking do it,” Jesse hissed, grabbing the sheets and twisting his hips down, meeting each smacking, punishing thrust of the man's hips, his cock burying itself in him over and over, long and thick and hot and-

“Fuck it, I can't do this,” the man grunted, pulling out right when Jesse really started to _feel_ it.

“What the hell?” Jesse snarled, pulling himself up as the man dressed just as quickly as he'd undressed not even ten minutes ago.

"I don't get you, kid,” he grumbled, “you want someone to hurt you, go find someone else. I ain't about that.”

“You weren't hurting me,” Jesse said, frantically pulling up his jeans.

“You weren't even _hard_!” The man cut him off. He looked pretty when he was angry. In another life Jesse might've wanted something more from him, maybe. Jesse scowled as he stood, buttoning his jeans.

“Don't need to be hard to enjoy sex, pendejo,” he hissed, following the man to the door.

“You're fucking crazy. Go be a masochist with someone else,” the man said, stomping down the corridor as he left. Jesse waited until he was long gone, then he let loose a short scream, punching the doorframe. He was still keyed up, still ready and willing for someone, fucking _anybody_ , to fill the space in his gut.

“Keep it down,” Jesse heard someone speak. He whirled and faced the opposite side of the corridor.

“Fuckin’ Shimada,” Jesse grumbled, “what’re you doin’ up?”

The man raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow. He stood a few yards down the corridor, bathed in moonlight. He wore a lighter version of the clothing Jesse'd seen him wear in the daytime, both arms covered this time. His hair was down and it looked ridiculously soft and clean. The man practically oozed meticulousness and Jesse felt like a rumpled sack of potatoes in comparison.

“Touchy,” the man murmured, stepping closer, too close. “Quite unlike you. I confess I became accustomed to your southern hospitality.”

“Well don't expect it 24/7,” Jesse groused, moving to shut his door.

“If I could make a suggestion,” Shimada said, keeping Jesse's door open with an iron grip. Jesse scowled but waited, crossing his arms over his bare chest. Shimada’s eyes dipped down.

“If you're in want of company, you needn't look very far,” he said. It was Jesse's turn to raise his eyebrow. He huffed a laugh and started to close his door, Shimada let him.

“Honey, you wouldn't know what to do with me,” Jesse said as he closed the door. He thought he heard Shimada chuckle, then he listened as the man left, walking the way he came with almost imperceptible steps. A human wouldn't be able to hear him coming.

 

 

It was after a bad, bloody op that Winston was forced to tell the rest of Overwatch about Jesse's condition. It had been a closely guarded secret kept by old Overwatch from the new, but circumstances forced their hand.

“I saw you,” Hana had sobbed in his chest, “that guy shot you in the head. You were dead!”

Jesse hadn't known what to say at the time. A lazy trail of blood had oozed down his face, originating from the swiftly closing remnants of a bullet hole dead center of his forehead. If he hadn't been so dizzy he would've admired the marksmanship. Hana'd broke off into fractured English and Korean as she lightly punched his chest again and again, taking her shocked grief out on the subject of her worry, funnily enough.

The story got back to Winston, and then everyone knew. Those from old Overwatch who weren't already in the know didn't look all that shocked. They must've pieced it together ages ago. Those in the new Overwatch, kids all, were torn between gaping and blurting out questions over top of each other. Winston assured them they'd all receive a copy of a detailed report, but they wanted it from _him_. They wanted to know how Jesse survived a bullet to the head. They wanted to know how vampires were really real.

Jesse glanced over top of Hana's head and saw the Shimadas across the room. He could tell Genji was talking, he tended to talk with his hands a lot, compensating for lack of expressiveness, Jesse supposed. Hanzo wasn't looking at Genji. He was looking at Jesse, gaze cutting him to the quick. Jesse swallowed and looked away first.

When he was finally able to shake himself free from the younger Overwatch agents he stepped out, feigning fatigue and begging off any more questions. He yawned as he turned to leave, and yelped when he was dragged to the side, neck popping from the force of it. He smelled Hanzo before he got a good look at him, and above it all he could smell his arousal. The man slammed him into the corner and boxed him in and Jesse held his breath. Wasn't often he was actually scared, but it also wasn't often he was so easily manhandled. Not since—

“I knew it,” Hanzo groaned, burying his face between Jesse's neck and shoulder, nuzzling through his longish hair to reach his skin.

“Wh-what the hell, Shimada-sa— _oh_!”

Fangs pierced his skin and the sharp tang of blood filled his nose, permeated the air like a fog. He gasped with each violent pull at his neck, soft _ah_ ’s and _oh_ ’s echoing softly in the empty hall as Hanzo drank from him. Jesse pushed weakly at the other man’s shoulders, breathless and aching and hot, and Hanzo pulled off with one last lick, lingering to breathe in Jesse's scent on his neck.

“Shi…Han…” Jesse struggled to speak, tongue sluggish and brain a fog of heat and arousal.

“Shh…” Hanzo hushed him, nipping at his ear. Jesse panted open mouthed and desperate as Hanzo ushered him down the hall. They entered a room Jesse was unfamiliar with, Hanzo’s room by the look of it, and the other man pushed him onto the bed, crowding over him and pressing him into the cool sheets that smelled like honey and herbs, Hanzo’s scent. Jesse moaned softly and stretched, offering his neck again out of some primal desire and instinct.

Hanzo’s eyes gleamed red in the low light and he ducked down, eagerly taking what was offered. Jesse panted shakily and twisted his fingers in the other man's hair, pulling with each suck at his neck, like a kitten kneading in contentment. Hanzo kissed him, and Jesse could taste himself. He licked every part of Hanzo’s mouth he could reach, chasing his flavor. He was sweet and tangy, unlike anything he'd ever tasted before.

“You are a rare treat,” Hanzo murmured against his lips, kissing him again. He pulled back and replaced his lips with his wrist. Jesse took the permission eagerly, biting and suckling. He moaned. Hanzo’s blood was thick and heady, richer than Gabriel’s had been. He choked at the sudden memory and Hanzo shushed him, petting his hair, mistaking his pain for over-eagerness.

"Your sire was a fool to abandon you. You are quite desirable.”

Jesse's cheeks heated and he looked away.

"Did they turn you out of greed? They saw you and had to have you?”

Jesse unlatched from Hanzo’s wrist and wiped his mouth, Hanzo tracking every minutia of his movement.

“Wasn't like that,” Jesse said, “guy was looking for a quick fuck and a quick meal. Found me.”

Hanzo hummed and stroked his hair out of his face.

“He was a fool, then.”

Jesse grinned.

“Guess he was.”

 

 

The thing they had between them was an agreement of mutual benefit, nothing more. Hanzo wasn't interested in him like that, and neither was Jesse.

Feeding from each other always held a small amount of tension and eroticism, something neither of them acted on. But Jesse was scared because it could easily turn into something more. He was weak like that. He needed someone else in his life who wasn't afraid to treat him the way he needed to be treated. To make him _behave_.

 

 

Hanzo told him about a new world. He told him about vampires who were born, who were made or turned, vampires who were there since the beginning.

“Vampirism in my family tends to skip around through generations. We hadn't had a pureborn in over a century.”

“So Genji, he's…?”

“Yes,” Hanzo's eyes flashed, “or I would not have been able to maim him so, and leave him still breathing to see another dawn.”

Jesse swallowed. Hanzo crept over him, poised over his still youth-narrow chest, and bit his wrist, watching the crimson drops trickle into Jesse's open, wanting mouth.

“Someone had to have made you this way,” Hanzo murmured thoughtfully. “Shaped you in their image, to receive any form of love they saw fit to give.”

Jesse looked up at the other vampire through half-lidded eyes and swallowed, feeling the blood cling slickly to his throat.

“Perhaps you will tell me about him. When the time is right.”

The older man’s hand cupped Jesse's arousal and he shuddered out a sigh, moving languidly into the pressure as he closed his eyes.

 

 

Something changed wholly between them when Jesse almost died. They were paired together for an op, a simple mission that shouldn't have taken more than a day or two of recon and extraction. Talon had a way of disrupting plans.

Reaper was there. It was the first time Jesse had actually seen him in person, and he was a lot bigger than the videos gave him credit for.

“Jesse…” the thing had growled, clawed hand outstretched, and Jesse froze. It came close enough to wrap its horrifically frigid talons around his neck and _squeeze_.

“I know just what to do with you, boy,” it said, squeezing tighter and tighter and Jesse felt something close to giving. His eyes bulged and he felt like his head was going to explode. He fucking needed to breathe. Reaper tilted his head, laser-focused on Jesse’s neck, and the pressure eased. Jesse heaved in a startled breath, wheezing through the slight squeeze still on his throat.

“Bite marks,” it hissed, punching one of its claws into a healing mark on Jesse's neck. He screamed. “Not allowed,” it continued, seething in anger and practically growing in front of Jesse, towering and dark and Jesse was suffocating and sinking to the ground, Reaper following with unearthly ease, a claw still stuck in his fucking neck, and then an arrow punctured Reaper’s throat.

Reaper reeled back with a screech, clawing at its throat. Jesse crawled away, clutching his bleeding neck with his flesh hand, and Hanzo battled the Reaper behind him, snarling, violent and vengeful. Then he was being lifted, and then he ran beside Hanzo as they escaped. All he could hear over the pounding of his own heart was Hanzo’s harsh breathing, the tapping of his prosthetics over the jingling of his spurs.

“We need evac!” Hanzo growled into his comm, pulling Jesse haphazard against his chest as he shimmied into a narrow alley. Jesse panted into his skin, their sweat mixing on his forehead, and Hanzo groaned and leaned down to lick his neck, cleaning the blood still oozing from Reaper’s puncture wound.

“Roger,” came Tracer’s hurried reply, “hold out for a few minutes longer, triangulating your position.”

Jesse groaned and Hanzo took all his weight, sheltering him in the cool dark.

“We can afford to wait here,” Hanzo told him, “Reaper will not be reforming any time soon.”

Jesse nodded, Hanzo’s arms tightened around him.

Later that night Hanzo unraveled the bandages around Jesse’s throat and fit his own fingers around the marks Reaper left behind.

“He was familiar with you.”

Jesse nodded.

“He,” Hanzo’s breath hitched and he looked down, at the puncture wound slightly below his palm, “he could have killed you.”

“Could have. Didn't.” Jesse's throat was sore, talking was rough but he wanted to soothe the man in front of him. He rubbed his arms and pulled him close.

“Ain't goin’ nowhere,” Jesse assured him. They partook of each other for the first time that night, Jesse sprawled on the bed with Hanzo a warm weight above him, inside him, going so slowly and tenderly it reminded Jesse of a night long ago filled with tears and regret, spent in the arms of another man.

 

 

He was proven wrong days later. He was alone—no Hanzo, no Genji, no backup of any sort—as he strolled down the familiar streets of Numbani. He was on some much-needed shore leave, so to speak, and he chose Numbani as his destination for its open atmosphere, its blend of human and omnic in all shapes and colors. He fit into the hodge-podge crowds easier than anywhere else in the world.

He was returning to his hotel later in the evening. He’d gone to the corner store for groceries to keep up appearances, taking in the fresh air, hat off for once in the waning light, when the black mass struck. It appeared in front of his face so suddenly he almost screamed, but the air was rudely pushed from his chest when he was kicked, sent sprawling against the wall with a crack. His groceries spilled onto the street and heavy metal boots crushed them underfoot as it— _Reaper_ —approached.

Jesse instantly reached for his revolver and howled when a knife struck, impaling his hand to the wall. He struggled and cursed, yanking the knife free, but his hand was too shaky and weak to even hope to handle Peacekeeper. Reaper cocked its head and waited, floating near formless in a cloud of black smog, oily and thick that stunk of ozone and rot.

“What? What do you want?!” Jesse yelled, sending the knife flying at the Reaper’s mask with his prosthetic hand. He wasn’t as good of a shot with it, the knife went wide by a few inches, and in the time it took for him to strike Reaper had already moved, bearing down on him against the wall with an all-consuming fury that seeped into Jesse’s skin through every pore, leaving him tingling and numb.

“You’re coming with me, vaquero.”

Jesse gaped up at that owlish mask—death incarnate—then everything went black.

 

 

Hanzo kicked away from his seat with a snarl.

“That’s not good enough!”

“Hanzo,” Genji whispered, holding him back.

“He could be dead by now, I refuse to wait another week,” Hanzo continued, rage pulsing through his body with such intensity he hadn’t felt in years. “There was blood. There was a knife. His arm was—”

He broke off with a hiss and snatched the data pad with the information for himself, storming from the briefing room. He heard Overwatch’s troubled murmurs, Genji making apologies on his behalf, before the cyborg followed him out, hot on his heels.

“Calm yourself, brother,” Genji murmured, “it wouldn’t do to take your anger out on our comrades.”

Hanzo scoffed impatiently and rounded the corner, heading to his quarters. He had much to prepare, much to pack.

“You intend to pursue him.” It wasn’t a question; his brother knew him too well.

“Yes,” Hanzo muttered darkly, “I know what has taken him. I will not allow it. I will not forgive it.”

“Careful,” Genji said, pulling him to a stop by his elbow. “You may be immortal, may have lived many lives of men, but you are not infallible. The Reaper is cunning, Talon is cunning, and they will not hesitate to take what they deem to be theirs.”

Hanzo frowned at his brother’s inexpressive faceplate.

“I have always been careful, brother,” he finally said, brushing past him. “And I know this. Do you think I have not thought of Jesse in their hands? What they might be capable of? How quickly they will discover his oddities, if they do not already know. I must protect him.”

Genji chuckled as he followed his brother into his quarters, watching him pack.

“You forget, McCree may look young but he is a grown man by mortal standards. He can take care of himself.”

“No,” Hanzo groused, sparing Genji a quick scowl before returning to packing, “he is but a child compared to others of his kind. He has much to learn.”

“Cradle robber,” Genji accused with a barking laugh. Hanzo smirked but said nothing. “What is your plan, then? Surely you have one?”

Hanzo finished and kneeled to pack his bow away with care, checking over each arrow with a critical eye. He stripped and donned less-conspicuous clothing—something he knew Jesse hadn’t done, the fool—and gathered his belongings. He took the ribbon from his hair and folded it, placing it in his pocket, and brushed out his hair with his fingers before picking up his sunglasses and wide-brim hat. Genji studied him from the door as Hanzo paused.

“You’re coming with me,” Hanzo said.

“Of course I am,” Genji chuckled, following him out.

 

 

“Help!” Jesse screamed, “somebody help me!”

His voice echoed in the cold space, a cell made of metal and stone that left him shivering and claustrophobic. He’d been yelling for a good half an hour now, and he didn’t plan on stopping until his throat gave.

He’d woken naked, half-frozen in a cell with his prosthetic arm gone, and immediately panicked. He remembered back to all those years ago, the cage, the chains, the stink of sweaty bodies and old blood. Near hyperventilating he’d traced the corners of his new cage with shaky fingers, finding it to be bigger than he’d realized. He blinked through a wave of dizziness and sunk to the floor in the corner, huddled and shaking. He closed his eyes tight and wracked his brain for answers.

He’d been in Numbani on leave. He’d gone to the corner store. He’d returned, but he didn’t make it back to the hotel. He’d…

His eyes snapped open when he heard a click. He jerked upright and waited, frowning but scared, so fucking scared, as a pillar of light appeared in the far wall—a door—and Reaper stepped inside. He shrunk away as the thing paced his way with palpable intent. It stopped in front of him, caging him in the corner with his sheer mass alone. It wasn’t the first time Jesse hated how damn small he was. You didn’t know true frustration until you were a grown ass man stuck in a teenager’s body.

“You were under for a while. Was beginning to think you wouldn’t come around.”

Jesse had nothing to say, so he waited and scowled up at the bone-white mask. The thing chuckled raggedly and lifted a hand. Jesse flinched but had nowhere to go, he was forced to take the thing’s touch, possessive and casual in a way that left him nauseous. The talons dragged through his hair, down the side of his face, nicking his chin on their way, before settling at last on his throat.

“It’s been three days. I wonder how long you can last…” it trailed off and cocked its head.

Jesse swallowed. Three days.

“There’s also the question of your comrades. Overwatch,” Reaper spat. “Three days and no sign of movement on their end. Interesting.”

Jesse swallowed and tried to think objectively. He knew protocol. They wouldn’t even consider a rescue unless specific circumstances were met, even then Winston would have to battle an army of bureaucratic red tape just to sanction an operation to find him. New Overwatch’s wings had been clipped. Their hands were tied, and Jesse was alone.

 

 

It wasn’t a sudden realization, discovering Reaper’s true identity. It came in parts, revelations and small hints, perhaps enacted purposefully on the other’s end. Jesse pieced it together within the week. Spending a prolonged amount of time with anyone would reveal intimate details, quirks and mannerisms that would otherwise be nigh unrecognizable at first glance.

Reaper held itself the same way _he_ did. Reaper had those ridiculously huge guns, just like _his_. Reaper called him vaquero. Reaper called him bloodsucker. Reaper paid close attention to that place on his neck, where his initial turning scar had once rested, two puncture marks that had faded with time. An innocuous patch of dark skin that Reaper stroked daily, coming to him in the dark at all hours to…Jesse didn’t know what his intentions were, exactly. Not until he knew with the utmost certainty that Reaper was Gabriel Reyes. His…his everything.

“Gabe,” Jesse had murmured weakly, strength long waned from starvation and sleep-deprivation, from fear. Reaper froze, gloved hand still around Jesse’s throat.

“Gabe,” Jesse repeated, stronger, with more conviction—more pain—and the thing recoiled in a burst of oily smoke, air rushing over Jesse’s unwashed, pallid skin.

“Don’t you run from me,” Jesse growled, gaining strength from anger, equal parts humiliation and sorrow. “Don’t you leave me in here again. Gabriel,” he spat.

The smoke— _Gabriel_ —violently tore through the door. It snapped shut behind him, leaving Jesse in sudden dark.

He screamed.

 

 

“I’ll talk! I’ll talk!” The man spluttered, shaming himself with tears and snot covering his pathetic face, hot piss running down his thighs. Hanzo wrinkled his nose at the smell but otherwise didn’t move.

“Oh?” Genji huffed, deceptive innocence from the corner. “He’ll _talk_ , brother.”

“Hm” Hanzo hummed, leaning closer than before, staring into the man’s disgusting, piggish eyes. “No, he will sing.”

He did.

 

 

“I wake up some mornings and he's already touching me and, goddammit, it feels like you and I turn over half expecting to see your face. I can't help but look disappointed and he swears it don't matter but it matters to me,” Jesse cried. “I wanna be free of you. I wanna wake up with him and forget about you. I wanna be free of you the way you're free of me.”

Reaper watched, stone-like, as Jesse nearly screamed from frustration.

“I mourned you!” Jesse wailed into the black. His already thin voice cracked and splintered to pieces. “I buried you!”

Reaper watched him crawl around in the dark, sobbing and twitching from hunger, from pained sorrow.

"I fucking-” Jesse broke off and screeched, scraping at the walls, at his hair and face. “How dare you? How dare you?!”

Reaper coolly watched him punch and kick, pure, unadulterated rage fueled by hunger.

“How dare you take me outta that fucking place just to _put me back_!!” Jesse continued. “You promised me! You p-promised!”

Reaper punched a few buttons on the viewing console, watching the purplish smoke coil downwards to blanket Jesse like a fog, pressing him down into unconsciousness. He waited for the smoke to dissipate, then stepped into the room.

“We’ll set him up on a drip momentarily. We want a few more vials for analysis then he's all R&D’s. Good find, agent,” the orderly spoke beside him, stepping past Reaper to Jesse’s side. A heavier set orderly came in as well and pulled Jesse up into his arms, slack like a rag doll. Reaper watched the way his head lolled over the man’s arm. He was so small, still, and looked even smaller naked against the much larger man. Reaper’s fingers twitched.

He saw the bruised teeth marks on Jesse’s neck. He knew what they meant, he'd watched him with the older Japanese man, the way their eyes had lingered over each other. Reaper clenched his fists.

"Maybe after R&D’s finished with him you can send him our way,” the orderly joked lasciviously, eyes raking over Jesse’s unprotected body. Reaper bristled behind them.

“Yeah, he's real pretty now, but just wait until those freaks are done with him in the labs,” the first one laughed, “unless you guys are into some kinky shit in the barracks I wouldn't touch him with a ten foot po-”

Reaper punched his gauntleted fist through the man’s chest. He couldn't even feel the warmth of his innards through his suit, couldn't feel much of anything anymore. The man crumpled to the floor with one last gurgle and the other orderly staggered backward, dropping Jesse in his panic. He fumbled at his waist and pulled out a small pistol, training it on Reaper’s head.

“S-stay the fuck back, agent!” The orderly yelled, backing into the door. Reaper cracked his neck and advanced on the man, laughing darkly when shot after shot tore through him, doing nothing.

Reaper stooped once he finished, scooping Jesse into his arms. He propped him up and held his fist at his mouth, glove and torn flesh soaked in blood pressing at his lips. Even unconscious Jesse’s body was equipped for survival, opening for the blood and gore as it oozed into his mouth, down his throat. Reaper massaged his neck, helping him swallow, and repeated the process several times until his color returned to a somewhat healthy hue. He stood and took Jesse with him, leaving the black room and the dead men behind.

 

 

“I see it,” Genji muttered as the crested the rise, hunkering down immediately. The compound loomed out of the dark, a sprawling, decaying thing, though Hanzo knew it only appeared that way from the outside. He held up his binoculars, clicking to the thermal detectors. The compound lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree.

“This will be difficult,” Hanzo grunted, chewing his bottom lip. Genji suddenly laughed, so loudly Hanzo shushed him with a startled scowl.

“Fear not, brother,” Genji chuckled, motioning to an expanse of desert on the opposite side of the compound, “fate has provided us with a solution.”

Hanzo squinted through the dark, training his binoculars in that direction, and what he saw made him grin.

 

 

Jesse woke, already irritated by being knocked out, again, just to wake somewhere else. He panicked when he felt air rushing over him, when he smelled that oily ozone that surrounded him from all sides, but strong arms held him close as they rushed through the desert, unnaturally swift, dizzyingly so. Jesse dared to glance up, instantly shutting his eyes when he saw that bone mask looking down at him, returning his gaze. He breathed heavily through his nose as he fought down bile. He felt sated, he didn’t want to lose that feeling again.

They kept on in silence, interrupted only by the sounds of wind whipping through cloth, what little remained of Reaper’s cloak that wasn’t smoke, and it whistled through Jesse’s ears. Jesse didn’t want to speak, his throat felt inflamed and raw, complaining even when he swallowed, and even if he could he didn’t wish to. He’d said what he wanted. He could find no other words.

He didn’t know how long it’d been, he couldn’t see behind them to see how far they’d gone from his prison, but Reaper jolted to a stop and practically dumped Jesse onto the cracked desert floor. He spluttered and coughed and curled up, glancing up at the Reaper. It was looking behind them, silent and dark, and Jesse strained to look as well but saw nothing through the gloom, the thin sliver of moon hanging in the sky afforded little to no light in the night.

“We don’t have long.”

Jesse startled and looked back to Reaper, to Gabriel, and crawled away when it crouched in front of him.

“Listen to me, Jessito.”

Jesse stared, confused, when Reaper hesitated, then removed its mask. Jesse forced himself to look, to take in the pitted, rotting flesh that made up the parts of Gabriel’s once handsome face. The smell nearly made him gag but he forced himself still.

“Someone is coming for you. I made sure of it.”

“What—”

“Don’t speak,” Reaper warned, holding up a hand. “We don’t have much time.”

It pressed a small data pad into Jesse’s hands and stood, backing away from him with jerking steps.

“Jessito,” it spoke, voice cracking through the silence, desperate and grating. The sound of it tore at Jesse’s heart, leaving him gasping and unsure. “Read it all, and do what you have to.”

Jesse prepared to speak again when suddenly the valley lit up blue. He felt it before he saw it, the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stood on end when the air turned practically electric and two dragons coiled through the night, roaring and crackling. They hit Reaper with a sound not unlike a car crash, screams and twisting metal and the rough sound of rending flesh assaulted Jesse’s ears and he whined, pressing to the ground and covering his head. Wind and sound roared over top of him for what felt like an eternity, his skin heated almost unbearably, then it was over. He panted into the dirt, afraid to move, then he heard shouting and footsteps. He lifted his head.

“Hanzo?” He rasped, not believing his eyes as the Shimada heir raced down the valley crest, followed closely by Genji, the lights in his suit showing them the way. Jesse scrambled to his feet and staggered to meet them halfway, falling into Hanzo’s arms who immediately pulled him close, stifling Jesse’s sobs in his coat.

“How did you find me?” He cried when Hanzo pushed him back, taking off his coat to drape it over Jesse’s bare shoulders. The man seemed incapable of speaking, he could only stare at Jesse’s face, desperately searching him for wounds, looking close to breaking down himself.

“We are Yakuza, McCree,” Genji reminded him jovially, “former or not. We have our ways.”

Reaper’s words echoed in Jesse’s head. _‘Someone is coming for you. I made sure of it.’_

“Reaper,” Jesse murmured, turning to survey the sheer carnage left in the dragons’ wake. Yet, through it all, a pitiful lump of smoke and flesh remained, regenerating slowly and steadily, the mask peeking through it all, baleful and stark in the night. Arms formed, then legs, and Jesse stepped back into Hanzo’s warmth. Genji stepped close as well, procuring a leather satchel from his pack, Jesse’s bag, the things he’d left behind, and a holster. Jesse took them, still staring at the amalgam of flesh and smoke. Reaper dug its claws into the cold clay ground, dragging its decaying, misting body closer.

“Jesse,” it warbled, a nightmarish tone that sent shivers down his spine, but he stood firm. “Jesse, why won't you come with me?”

“You don't get to call me that, you ain't no friend of mine,” Jesse said, taking a step back. “You’re…you’re not Gabriel.” He saw the truth of it now, and he gripped the data pad tighter. Gabriel had the answers he needed, the Gabriel that was locked away inside that…thing.

Reaper slumped on the ground with an exasperated breath.

“McCree,” the wraith amended, “we could be perfect again. We could be together, just like you wanted. Forever."

Jesse stared down at the creature’s disintegrating body, down at the remains of the man he once, still, loved.

"All you gotta do is want me again, baby boy,” Reaper crooned, ugly and dripping, staggering back to unsteady, reforming feet, “all you gotta do is give me that sweet blood of yours and we can be together again.”

Reaper stumbled and half-formed, too-weak bones cracked, sending him tumbling back to the ground. He left a trail in his wake, like a particularly foul slug. Putrid, rancid rot of death and hunger.

“Give it to me!” Reaper spat, clawing closer.

“No,” Jesse said, raising his gun.

 

 

They returned to the Watchpoint, they all received verbal dressing downs—Jesse not so much, he was ushered straight to the medical wing—and life returned to normalcy. The data Gabriel gave Jesse was enough to start Overwatch on the path to victory over Talon. The data also contained secrets, most of which remained so, but within them lay the explanation for Reaper.

Jesse read it all alone, by his request, and clutched the data pad to his chest as he cried. History would show that Gabriel Reyes murdered Jack Morrison and himself by destroying the Swiss headquarters, bringing the whole thing down on each other. All of it out of spite and jealousy. They _had_ argued, they _had_ fought, but the explosion was due to different circumstances, orchestrated by Talon and Talon alone.

Reaper was Talon’s project. They’d dug Gabriel out of the rubble and used his already enhanced body to complete their genetic experimentation, piggy-backing off what SEP had already accomplished. Gabriel was dead, but pieces of him remained in Reaper, and those pieces were responsible for Jesse’s survival.

Reaper disappeared after the incident in the desert. The Talon compound was destroyed, but it was only one in a vast network that sprawled across the entire planet. A lot remained to be done. But Reaper was gone, and with his departure their strength crumbled. Talon could be dismantled, and would be. But Reaper couldn’t be maintained without Talon. He would disappear, in time.

History would paint Gabriel the villain, but Overwatch would know the truth.

 

* * *

 

 

“Knew you'd be the one to do it.”

“Do what, Gabe?”

“Watch me die.”

Jesse hummed and ran his fingers over Gabe’s—Reaper’s—patchy, balding scalp. He could just make out the archer standing some ways off, his vision wasn't what it used to be, but he could still see Jesse. Still youthful, still beautiful, glowing like a goddamn angel of death as he looked down on him with a small amount of fondness—maybe that was…yes, there was some love there, too—and his eyes were copper in the waning light. He didn’t know when Jesse showed up. One minute he’d been tending his garden, an all too familiar pain had seized his chest and he’d fallen, and when he woke Jesse was with him.

“Overwatch is gone,” Jesse spoke sometime later, startling Gabe out of a doze. “They disbanded a few years ago. Jack’s gone, Ana too.” Jesse smiled down at him. “We’re the last of the old boys, Gabe.”

“Would've liked to have…seen them again,” Gabe murmured. Speaking was beginning to be difficult, too much energy and breath used for the simplest words. Jesse hummed again and rubbed over his brow, smoothing the lines there.

“They knew, before the end. They loved you, they all did.”

Gabe's cheeks were hot, tears pricking his eyes.

"I'm suh…I'm sorry,” Gabe rasped, eked out through pained gasps of breath. Jesse shushed him and kissed him, youthful and plush against Gabe's own cracked and age-thinned lips.

“Ain't got nothin’ to be sorry for. You should know that by now.”

“But I could've…I should've…”

“Shhh…” Jesse soothed, kissing him again. Gabe was disgusted at himself for the moment it took him to remember Jesse was only a little over a decade younger than he was. The both of them were almost a century old.

"You gotta tell them I'm s-sorry,” Gabe rushed. His vision was fading, he couldn't see past Jesse's face now.

“They already know, darlin’,” Jesse told him, so soft and sure, all these years later and still sounding fresh out of the south. “The information you gave me…it told us all we needed to know.”

“I’m…sorry,” Gabe said again, Jesse’s eyes glowed. “Everything I did to you, and everything _he_ did to you-”

“You gotta stop talking, Gabe. Save your strength.”

“For what?” Gabe cackled, hacking a cough that ended with black bile spewed over his face, on Jesse's hands. “You know I'm dying.”

“…I know,” Jesse said a moment later. Gabe blinked, and blinked again.

“I can't see you anymore, baby,” he gasped, and Jesse held his hands, kissing him again with urgency.

“I'm right here,” Jesse whispered furiously, “I ain't goin’ nowhere, swear I won't.”

“Promise you'll stay with me?” Gabe whispered, breath failing him.

“I promise, darlin’.”

Gabe closed his eyes, he couldn't see so it didn't matter. Hot tears plopped onto his cheek, into his mouth. He listened to Jesse cry, felt him stroke his cheeks, his temples, his thinning hair, fingertips skipping over ancient scars and pits in his skin.

“Jesse?” He called, panicked.

“I'm here, right here,” Jesse answered quickly, squeezing his hand.

"I love you, I love you _so much_ baby boy…”

Jesse sobbed.

“I always have, even if it didn't, when he didn't…”

"I love you too, Gabriel, I fucking love you so much, I…Gabriel?”

Gabe sighed out a breath, smile on his lips.

"Gabriel please, talk to me," Jesse pleaded, shaking him slightly. Not even the jostling was enough to—

 

 

“Gabriel? Gabriel!” Jesse cried, shaking him again. The man was silent, and cold in his lap, his twisted lips set in a gentle smile, the sort he hadn't seen in a long, long time. Hanzo stayed by the car at the end of the driveway, respectfully keeping his distance as Jesse cried. He hated—loved—him for it.

He didn't move for hours; he waited for the sun to set and he blinked, staring down at Gabe’s face in the twilight. If he'd given Reaper his blood all those years ago he'd…

No, he'd still be Reaper, and Jesse would've locked Gabe in a forever-decaying body for all eternity, condemning him to a lifetime to hate Jesse in a body he couldn't control, submitting to an ego that hated Jesse as much as he loved him. He couldn't do that to him. Jesse blinked and Hanzo was there, hand on his shoulder.

“We can do one last thing for him, when you're ready.”

Jesse nodded and stroked Gabe’s head. The man's hideout was undeniably beautiful; a cabin by a lake somewhere in Montana, picturesque, peaceful…The cabin was simplistic and self-sustaining, endless power generated from solar panels and wind turbines, a careful mix of old and new tech. Inside was filled with simple belongings. No weapons. Nothing linking him back to Talon or Overwatch. All around him he could see Gabe’s last days of life. Empty cans and jars, a garden, a waste bin full of blackened tissues.

Jesse gently, so gently, stood and placed Gabe’s head on the bench. He followed the sounds around to the back of the cabin. Hanzo stopped digging and motioned to the spot he chose.

“I think he'd like it,” Jesse said, and Hanzo nodded and kept digging. His sleeves were rolled up and his tattoos, though faded with age, seemed to writhe in the moonlight as his muscles rippled. The grave was on a slight hill overlooking the lake, just beyond the vegetable garden. Jesse crouched on the ground and waited, crying softly into his hands. Hanzo finished and walked his way. He pulled him to his feet and walked him to the front, holding him the whole way.

They stopped in front of the bench.

“I'll. I can handle it from here,” Jesse said, voice thick.

“Of course,” Hanzo murmured. “Take your time, I'll wait for you.”

Jesse nodded and lifted Gabe. He was so light, nearly skin and bones under a threadbare sweatshirt and jeans. Jesse pressed his face against his cold chest and breathed in, remembering the scent, filing it away to remember for years and years. The oily stink of Reaper was long gone, what remained was what was familiar; cigars, earth, the same damn detergent he used in Blackwatch. Jesse came upon the grave and settled Gabe in it gently, folding his hands over his chest. Jesse fidgeted. He took the hat from his head and knelt.

“You know I ain't much for words and this…this is too fresh. Always figured I'd be at your funeral but not like this.”

Jesse shook his head and wiped his eyes.

“Figured I'd outlive you, sure. I'm a fuckin’…” Jesse trailed off. “I knew I would but this is too damn hard. Didn't want to see you die, Gabriel.”

He fiddled with the edge of his hat.

“There's too much we didn't do. Too much that went unsaid, unexplained. I hope you’re watching me, wherever you are.”

Jesse glanced at the sky, down at Gabe’s body. He placed his hat on Gabe’s chest, over his hands. He stood and looked out at the lake. A while later he covered the grave and patted down the dirt. He took the time to gather some flowers, placed them on the mound, found other bits and things around the cabin. He found…he found his old handkerchief, the one he had in Blackwatch, and the blanket he wore when Gabe pulled him out of Deadlock. He found Gabe’s beanie, his hoodie—both old and faded—and a Blackwatch patch hidden inside it. He took those, left the rest of the cabin as he found it.

He made a rough cross and promised to come back with a proper grave marker in the future. Gabe deserved it. He stuffed his finds in a bag and left with one last backward glance, shutting the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

 

Mina Song sat outside as she finished her ice cream cone. Her grandma and grandpa were inside, chatting with the lady who recognized them. She'd called them heroes, or something like it, but Mina just wanted to finish her treat. A stranger sat down across from her and she looked up with a sticky grin.

“Hello!"

“Well howdy, sugar, how you doin’ on this fine day?”

“You talk funny, mister.”

“Suppose I do,” the man laughed, tipping back in his seat. He looked over her shoulder and cleared his throat.

“Your folks about?”

“They're inside,” Mina said, licking her ice cream.

“Hana and Lúcio?”

“How do you know their names?” She asked, screwing up her face. The man chuckled.

“Don't be scared sugar, we're old friends. Just checking up on ‘em is all.”

“Okay,” she said, turning to see what the man kept looking at. She saw a dark-haired man in sunglasses and nice clothes. He looked like the models she sometimes saw in the ads.

“He's pretty. Is he your boyfriend?” She asked.

“Sure is, sweetheart. Ain't I lucky?”

“Whatever you say,” she shrugged, licking her fingers. The man laughed and dug in his pocket and handed her a holocard, paper thin and practically invisible. It looked expensive.

“What's this?” She asked, looking up, but the stranger was gone.

“What's what?”

Her grandparents had left the store and were waiting for her. She bounced out of her seat and took her grandma’s hand. According to her mom, Hana Song was pushing 90 but was ‘spry as a chicken.’ New technology and all that, extending lives, keeping people younger longer. Confusing adult stuff Mina didn't bother to understand. She knew her grandpa’s work had something to do with it though.

“Some guy gave me this,” she said, handing her grandma the card. She took it with a frown, staring at the English words on it, the numbers, and she quickly looked up, around the square.  

"What is it?" Grandpa asked and took the card. He read it too and grasped her hand. “Is this…what I think it is?”

“It's them,” she smiled, still looking out at the crowds. “They're back.”

 

 

“Are you satisfied now?”

“Yeah,” Jesse laughed, tugging Hanzo’s bangs affectionately. “Now they can contact us if’n they need us.” 

“The world is at peace, has been for a while now,” Hanzo chided, grasping his waist as they walked away, looking very much like a stylish young couple out for a stroll in Numbani’s excellent weather. Hanzo took to shaving to look younger so they wouldn’t garner too much attention, which an older man with a much younger teen would. 

“You and I both know it doesn't like to stay that way,” Jesse said, resting his head on Hanzo’s shoulder. Hanzo hummed and steered them back to their apartment. Numbani was a good place to settle for short periods of time, with its airport—recently turned spaceport—so many tourists and travelers and the diverse population allowed them to blend in easily.

Sometimes they traveled to Hanamura. Sometimes they traveled to a little cabin in Montana.

 

 

 

 


End file.
